PERSPECTIVES

There was never a birth
without some strain:
Needs must that something
this long-laboured
brings some pain.

Soft silver strands of mist
slowly spread along the plain;
the rolling hills lie lingerie-laced
with lingering cloud:
the view from the top of the hill
is none too clear.

Odder then,
this derangement of vision,
this trick of the evening light,
when eyes focus clear
in time's distance
and, close to hand,
reality simply fades,
mistily drifting.

There was never a living
without a death:
Needs must that something
this enduring
lives in vain.